Fan Fiction
by cactusnell
Summary: Sherlock discovers that he and Molly are the subjects of fan fiction stories. How will he deal with it? And what is Johnlock? Sherlolly


Mary Watson came home from her shopping trip to find her husband John laughing hysterically on the couch in the sitting room.

"For god's sakes, John, keep it down! You'll wake Claire. Nothing can be that funny."

Her husband passed her his mobile so that she could read the text which he had just received from his best friend Sherlock Holmes, world's only consulting detective.

WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS SHERLOLLY AND TO WHERE ARE THESE PEOPLE SHIPPING IT? - SHERLOCK

Mary collapsed in laughter next to him.

"I have to see his face when I explain it to him! I'm going over there," John managed to get out.

"Not on your life! I've got to see this, too! Tell him to come over here."

"He's working on a case. He won't want to leave the flat…"

"Then tell him that Claire has finally said her first word, and it was 'Sherlock'!"

"He won't believe that!"

"Like hell he won't! He's been coaching her like a bloody parrot!"

A short time later Sherlock was bouncing his goddaughter on his knee, greatly dissappointed that all he could get her to say was, "glab", "smuf", and the occasional multi-syllable "baftum".

"Pay attention, Sherlock," John tried to get his attention, "I'm trying to explain fan fiction."

"Do go on, John. I'm listening," the detective replied, still bouncing.

"Well, you've become a rather public figure, mate. You did die, and come back from the dead. You've solved a number of high-profile cases. Your picture has been in the tabloids countless time…"

"Don't remind me! That damned ear hat!"

"Anyway, you cut a rather dashing figure…"

"Of course I do, John!"

"And people want to be part of your world. Some are not content to just read about you. They create their own stories. They're fans, and they write fiction, hence the term…"

"Fan fiction. Yes, John, that part is obvious. But why are people noting on my blog that they 'ship Sherlolly'? What the hell is Sherlolly?"

"Well, some of these fans have evidently chosen to create a , ah, romantic mythology about you and, ah Molly Hooper. A relationship. That's the 'ship' part, mate. In the jargon of fan fiction, it's used as a verb. When they say 'ship', they mean they promote that relationship…"

"And the 'Sherlolly' is a combination of our names, eh. At least I got top billing!" Sherlock sighed. "But why Molly?"

"Well, her name has featured prominently in some of your cases. She's been pictured with you in some of the finer tabloids. And Anderson's theories on how you faked your death have been repeated all over the web!"

"Ah!", Sherlock nooded and smiled. "This may require some further investigation, John. I'll be in touch!" He then handed the infant to her father, tilting his head in farewell to her heavily smirking mother, and took his leave.

Mary couldn't resist saying, "Wait 'til he finds out about Johnlock!"

It was only a few days later when Sherlock, the "Boffin Detective" of so many fan fictions, had the opportunity to broach the subject with Molly Hooper, "Doctor Death" herself. She had arrived in his flat on a Friday evening to deliver assorted fingers and toes, as per his request. Before she could even ask why the items were required, she was taken aback by the following question.

"Molly, have you ever heard of fan fiction?"

Not sure where this was going, and hoping against hope that it wasn't going in the direction she dreaded, Molly replied, hesitantly, "Yesss…"

"Sherlolly, in particular?"

"Yes, Sherlock, I have heard of it,"

"Read any?"

Molly could feel her face turning red as the blush crept up from her neck. "Maybe, some," she stuttered. _Great_, she thought, _it takes me years to get over the goddam stutter in his presence, and here we go again!_

"I'm not sure I like the way I am portrayed. Rude, arrogant, egotistical, selfish…"

"Ah, you're talking about the more realistic variety of the genre, I see…"

Sherlock glared down at her, "But I'm always handsome. Or gorgeous. Or beautiful…"

"Now we're veering into fantasy, are we?"

"Speaking of fantasy, have you read some of the things we get up to?"

"Sherlock, I am not getting any further involved in this conversation! You're obviously trying to make me uncomfortable…"

"You don't think I'm attractive?"

"Of course I do, but no one could be as handsome as you are portrayed in all those stories…"

"So you've read quite a few?"

"Okay, so I've read a lot of them! You're beautiful, and I'm mousey! Squeak! Squeak! Let's drop the subject!"

"Quite a few of them describe you as lovely, Molly…"

"And I'm always short! Petite! Tiny! One called me stunted, Sherlock…"

"Well, you are rather small, Molly…"

"Enough! Subject closed! Take the damned digits, and let me out of here!" With that, Molly turned on her heel, and, quite flustered, left the flat while Sherlock snickered at her retreating figure.

A few days later, Sherlock joined John Watson and Molly Hooper for lunch in the cafe at St. Bart's hospital. Molly and John often met for a meal when both were working, and it was not unusual for the detective to join them. This was often the only opportunity he had to socialize with his former roommate since he had moved out and started a family, and Sherlock found that he was, indeed, becoming more and more socialized, or human, as some of his acquaintances would put it.

"So, John, I have delving more deeply into the world of fan fiction. Some of the writers are truly gifted, while others seem to be obsessed with the more prurient aspects…"

John rolled his eyes as he spoke, "Please, Sherlock, we're eating! Besides, I'm sure Molly may be uncomfortable with…"

"Why, John, she is a medical doctor, after all. I was merely going to venture an opinion that some of the encounters portrayed in the more explicit stories may test the bounds of physical possibility…"

"It's alright, John, he's merely trying to get a rise out of me…" Molly smirked.

"Actually, Dr. Hooper, in a large preponderance of the stories the exact opposite is true. You seem to be getting a rise out of me…"

John choked on his sandwich, but Molly sat there looking unperturbed. "See, Sherlock, I am completely at ease. You will not tease me into losing my composure again. I have prepared myself for any comment…"

"Really, Molly, then you have heard about the 'omegaverse', I take it?"

Dr. Molly Hooper turned a deep scarlet, rose slowly, and stalked from the room.

"Evidently she has, mate," John chuckled, but was silenced when Sherlock turned to him to say, "So, John, tell me more about this 'Johnlock' nonsense."

The following evening, Molly was sitting at her laptop. Perhaps she should have confessed that she, herself, wrote a bit of fan fiction. She shipped the Tenth Doctor and Rose, star-crossed lovers who may not have worked out on the telly, but definitely did in her creations. But, knowing Sherlock's sarcastic sense of humor, she decided that discretion was the better part of valor. So, this evening, she was working on her personal blog. It was a rather eclectic concoction, covering everything from her personal preferences in movies, telly, books, etc, to new developments in the field of medicine, forensics, and pathology. All tied up in a pretty package of kittens and flowers. Totally Molly. She had just finished up her comment about the the new Doctor Who, Peter Capaldi, when she received notification of an incoming email. From Sherlock Holmes.

I AM FORWARDING A LINK TO A NEW FAN FICTION WHICH YOU REALLY SHOULD READ. IT'S NOT VERY LONG, BUT I LIKE THE ENDING.

Molly clicked on the link with some trepidation, but curious nevertheless.

"Doctor Death sat at her computer, typing away at her inane blog, while really thinking about the man of her dreams." Oh, brother, it was going to be one of those!

"Her slinky negligee was slipping from one shoulder, but she couldn't be bothered to fix it." Molly looked down at her flannel PJ's and laughed.

"She was lovely. Her long brown hair flowing freely around her shoulders, and her brown eyes glowing in the light from the computer screen." At least they haven't called me short!

"She stood up, suddenly, her short frame moving languidly toward the sitting room." And there it is, folks! Short.

"She sighed a heavy sigh, lost in her thoughts. Thoughts of love and desire all centered around the boffin detective who had won her heart, even though he had done absolutely nothing to deserve it." And here come the embarrassing part. Just how far would it go? Maybe she should stop reading now?

"He was a selfish man. Arrogant. Annoying. But his looks more than made up for this. He had the form of a Greek god, eyes the color of the Aegean Sea, curls like Michelangelo's 'David", cheekbones to die for, and a mouth made for caressing her." Whoever wrote this is a real Sherlock fan no doubt about it!

"Little did she know that at this very moment, this god who walks among men, who loved her even more than he was enamored of himself, was waiting impatiently on the landing outside her flat for her to finish the bloody story and open the door!"

Molly stood up so quickly that she almost sent her chair falling backward. It couldn't possibly be true. She walked quickly across the sitting room, took a deep breath, and opened the door, preparing herself for the disappointment to come. But he was there, leaning against the stair rail impatiently.

"Took you long enough, Molly," was all he managed to get out before she rushed into his arms, shutting his mouth with a passionate kiss.

When they finally broke apart, she murmured, "You were absolutely right, as always. I did like the ending, too."

"It hasn't ended yet, Dr. Hooper. We are about to explore just far some of those stories stretch the bounds of anatomical and physical possibilities. Ready?"

"Some things may be impossible, love, but I'm more than willing to try!" She then grabbed his hand and pulled him rather forcefully into the flat.


End file.
